


a regular decorated emergency

by kitmarlowed



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowed/pseuds/kitmarlowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex had found him, bleeding in some warehouse, useless and disappointing. He'd knelt close, curled his hand above the gashes, eyes wide and fixed to where he'd gouged down to the bone.</p>
<p>"What have you done to yourself?" He'd murmured, pushing the hair back from Clark's eyes with bloody fingers, putting slight pressure and dragging his nails across Clark's scalp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a regular decorated emergency

**Author's Note:**

> written in exchange with [Gamble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endquestionmark) as a mirror remix-y thing. the prompts were two, "clark/lex, loss of control, dark as fuck" or "clark/lex, just fuck me up" whichever one you think this fits is absolutely the one i wrote for.
> 
> thanks also to [winona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winonadanger) for not like killing us over imessage or something.
> 
> warnings for: self-inflicted injuries, gore and body weirdness in general, very unhealthy power dynamics, and absolutely no fucks given about DC canon.

Clark doesn't have much of reference for physical pain outside Lex Luthor's hands. Even so, the cigarette burns are a new one on him, and Lex doesn't even smoke, just lights them up and presses them down in scattered paths across Clark's skin. 

He's forgotten to hate how each one makes him feel grateful. Each feeling of his skin melting and reshaping and blistering down until Lex decides that's enough and moves to another one, leaves him with the happy understanding through the pain that here he isn't in control, he isn't Superman. 

Lex keeps up a steady monologue, slow like he's been taught to speak slow but his mind keeps far ahead. He murmurs about gods and monsters and hell, delight bleeding into his tone when Clark hisses and shifts next to him. He looks Qpunctuates the end of his remarks on power by pressing a fingertip to the most recent weeping burn.

"Of course," Lex says, and replaces his finger with the next the long line cigarettes, this time just close enough that Clark feels the heat of it, "that's why you're here isn't it?"

Clark doesn't have time to get a word out before Lex brings the cigarette down, opening whatever tiny parts of skin that had healed, holding Clark's arm still. "I didn't tell you to talk. If I want you to answer me, I'll say so. Like this," Lex throws the crushed paper away, heat gone out and into the red wound. "Answer me. Do you understand?"

Clark nods and Lex clicks his tongue, says "No," and, "I told you to answer me." 

"Yes," Clark runs his fingers over the raw circles of skin, pressing one of them until there are tears stinging at his eyes. Lex catches his hand.

"Did I say you could?" Clark shakes his head. "If you wanted to hurt yourself all you had to do was ask, Clark," Lex moves a hand to hold Clark's shoulder, nails digging in to the burns there under his collarbone. "What do you want?"

Clark looks up at him and sees Lex notice the tear tracks down his cheeks before meeting his eyes. He smirks, slight and quick and vicious.

"Hurt me more," Clark says and Lex laughs, pleased, says "Your wish."

-

Sometimes Lex orchestrates the things Superman is expected to stop, other times he'll let Clark loose to intervene where he wishes, as long as he's been good.

Lex is always happiest when Clark returns to him with red stains on his skin. "That's what you want, Clark," he says and Clark's kneeling, waiting for the touch that Lex's pale hand teases. "To know that you're not infallible." Lex kicks him and Clark falls, surprised. 

"I had something for you," Lex says, "but now I don't think you did well enough. Stand up."

Clark can feel the fragments of slightly shattered bone grind against each other when he stands, the after effects of the slow mineral poisoning Lex had gifted him. 

("Now," Lex had said, handing Clark the crystal. "The lab thinks this'll wear of eventually, why wouldn't it right? Your super healing ought to take its time but eventually purge it from your system. Until then, you'll be a little bit breakable. What do you say?"

"Thank you.")

"I don't-"

"Did I say anything about you speaking, Clark?"

No, he very rarely does. Lex tells him when to speak and the rest is just silence. Noises of pain are fine, though. It's a relief, in a way that Clark doesn't often like to acknowledge, not having to talk, not being the voice people listen to - not really being anything. Lex gives him pain and he gives Lex everything, it's more than worth it for not having to think. 

Lex curls his hand around the back of Clark's neck and pushes him to his knees again in this new room. His suit is damp but drying rigid with the blood, Lex stands, considering.

"Is any of it yours, Clark? You can talk."

"No."

"And you understand why that is, don't you? Why I didn't let you save them."

"I broke the shackles," Clark says, not looking up, eyes fixed on the floor by Lex's shoes. "I didn't wait for instructions."

Lex nods,"Try not to do it again," and leaves.

He can still hear them screaming as the building came down, the price of his instinct. Lex had told him to wait, but he'd moved without thinking before Lex said his name again, said "stop," disappointment clear over the screams.

\- 

Clark can feel the poison in his blood, can locate it enough to pinpoint the veins as it pumps to his heart. He tried once to let it, sliced at his skin with glass first, then his fingernails, scratching desperately. 

Lex had found him, bleeding in some warehouse, useless and disappointing. He'd knelt close, curled his hand above the gashes, eyes wide and fixed to where he'd gouged down to the bone.

"What have you done to yourself?" He'd murmured, pushing the hair back from Clark's eyes with bloody fingers, putting slight pressure and dragging his nails across Clark's scalp.

"I'm sorry," Clark had said, voice thin.

Lex had laughed, "what for? You're bleeding, isn't that what you wanted? How does it feel?"

Realistically it had felt like he was losing too much blood, like he'd damaged tendons and muscles in his clawing to get the poison out. But beyond that he'd felt content, cause and effect. He'd opened his skin, carved his flesh (like Lex had done before with a knife that splintered, leaving shards embedded, bleeding and healing and bleeding open again until he let Clark drag it out) and for nothing good, he's not overly sure that he'd wanted it to.

"Good," he'd admitted when the blood had started to slow, to dry on his skin. 

Lex had taken his hand and told him to hold the wound as tight as he could, that they'll wait for it to heal. He'd moved to sit next to Clark, one hand helping Clark press the wound closed. Clark had hissed and jerked and tried to move away from the extra pressure Lex had exerted.

"Shh." Lex had tightened his grip and Clark had stilled from the white hot pain of the flesh knitting itself back slowly, parts of it still freshly open, it's felt like he was on fire. "Good, Clark, you're so good," he'd said, tone not soft enough to be gentle, but he'd kissed Clark's temple and kept his fingers carding through Clark's hair until the wound healed and Clark stopped shaking. 

-

The knife slips through Clark's ribs easily and Lex makes a small noise of appreciation and Clark lets it.

He can feel it pierce his lung, splinters of the brittle blade they won't remove this time.

"What does this mean, Clark?" Lex asks, rivers of Clark's blood running through his fingers, staining the cuff of his shirt pink then deep red. 

Clark tries to breathe, tries to talk through the gurgling in his throat. 

"Yours," he thinks he manages, and Lex's smile says he heard. "Please."

"What, Clark?" Lex holds the knife, loose but not letting go, and Clark feels his skin weakly trying to heal around it. "What do you want?"

Clark leans back, head against Lex's shoulder, the presence comforting. 

"More," he says.


End file.
